


Small Fry

by playswithworms



Series: Protectobot Beginnings [28]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Implied Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playswithworms/pseuds/playswithworms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet said he couldn't be saved.  First Aid tries anyway.</p><p>Updated to add bonus snippets (chapters 4-8) that were posted on ff.net but somehow never made it over here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First published August 2010.

First Aid, Primus bless his spark, asked no questions as Ratchet hurried to meet him in the deep abandoned corridor and quickly, but very gently, tipped something small and warm into his hand.

“Do what you can to keep him comfortable. There’s no saving him,” Ratchet warned, as First Aid ran a questing finger over the tiny silvery ball, no bigger than his thumb, parting the silky umbilical threads. It wasn’t fair, to put this burden on him, but Ratchet had no choice, and nothing had ever been fair in this war, not for a very long time. “Just…just do what you can, and tell no one.” 

Ratchet looked back down the corridor behind him and then felt his spark clench as he glanced back down to First Aid’s hand, saw the perfect miniature hand unfolding from the tangle of threads. Slaggit. Too early. Too undeveloped. Not even the most rudimentary of firewalls. If only he had known, recognized the signs…but such a thing was unprecedented, except in legend, in ancient medical texts that made no sense, discounted long ago as the gibberish of age and mistranslation.


	2. Chapter 2

First Aid shut and locked the medbay door behind him, relieved that things were so quiet. Nothing was on the schedule as far as maintenance and check ups were concerned; barring an accident or emergency, he was unlikely to be disturbed, at least for the rest of this shift.

He went over to his small work area in the back of the medbay, sat down at the desk, resting one hand on the surface. First Aid slowly let his hand uncurl, revealing the tiny silvery being Ratchet had given him in the tunnels.  Both of its miniature hands were tightly gripping the masses of umbilical threads that still covered most of its body, and it gave a faint, protesting squeak at the cooler air of the medbay.  First Aid channeled more heat to his hands and transformed his smallest manipulating digits on his free hand to delicately brush away the threads from the tiny helm. The optics were tightly shuttered, but First Aid marveled at the diminutive face, every feature perfectly formed. 

The young medic sighed. There was no saving him, Ratchet had said, and Ratchet would not say that unless he was certain. The appearance of the tiny sparkling explained many things, and First Aid bowed his head, spark gripping him with sadness. He thought he had known all the ways his spark could ache, but here was yet another one. He let grief make its way through him for another moment and then tucked it away next to all of the other sorrows, old and new, focusing on the need at hand. Keep him comfortable, Ratchet had also said, and he would do his best to see that the sparkling deactivated as peacefully as possible.

“At least,” Aid murmured, “I suppose I should call you a sparkling.” He knew no other words for a new-spark. Technically he himself was still a sparkling, although he had been created fully developed and programmed, sparked from the Allspark, and had been performing the role of an adult mech for many vorns. This little one was more like a new turbofox pup or cyberhawk chick, budded directly from the creator’s body.   Like the image capture he had seen once long ago, copy of a copy of a copy, a tiny mech covered with threads. Maybe there had been a term for such a sparkling, but he could not begin to pronounce the strange ancient glyphs that went along with the image, much less translate them. 

“Are you a chick then, small one?” he asked softly, “or a pup?”  The sparkling stirred at the sound of his voice, one hand loosing its grip on the threads to weakly clasp his manipulating digit. “Auditory sensors are activated I see,” Aid smiled a bit, pitching his vocalizer higher. It just seemed like the right thing to do, and the sparkling squeaked and stirred again in response. 

First Aid performed a diagnostic scan, not sure he would even be able to read the results, but the information scrolled up obediently on his scanner. He winced at the results. He had no baseline for a normal sparkpulse on a being so small, but the uneven pattern was not a good sign. The scan came up positive for several common viruses, and with no firewalls or antiviral programming they were already wreaking havoc on every system, from fuel pump to processor.  He gently freed his small-digit from the sparkling’s grasp and searched delicately along the sides of the little frame until he found them. Data ports, rudimentary, incredibly small, but present.  

First Aid’s optics narrowed in concentration behind his visor, processor sorting through and discarding several possibilities. Even the smallest uplink cable would be larger than the sparkling’s entire arm, but maybe one could be modified…he frowned at the barely audible sound of the sparkling’s vents. The little one was probably in some pain, given the state of his systems. He didn’t even want to think about giving him an injection; he doubted he had a needle small enough, but maybe the sparkling could take a dose of painkillers by mouth? First Aid scanned again. The sparkling did possess a tiny fuel processing tank, as long as the viral infection hadn’t compromised its function already. 

Keeping the sparkling carefully cradled in his right hand, First Aid dexterously used his left to fill the smallest gauge syringe he could find with a minuscule dose of painkiller. When he tried to squeeze it into the sparkling’s mouth, however, the little one squirmed and meeped unhappily, and the liquid ended up missing its target, running all over the little face. First Aid dabbed it away and tried again. This time some of it ended up in the sparkling’s mouth, but he didn’t seem to know how to swallow. The sparkling mouthed the liquid with a very unhappy frown on the tiny faceplates until he managed to spit it all out again. Mixing the painkiller with energon, and then even pure energon produced the same result. The sparkling was growing weaker and weaker, and reluctantly First Aid gave up the attempt. Unless he got the viruses stopped this little one wasn’t going to last much longer. Ratchet’s words to him earlier had been thoroughly forgotten. He had a patient. He would find a way to help.

He was going to need both hands to modify an uplink cable. What to do with the sparkling in the meantime?  The tiny engine was not generating heat well at all, and the sparkling would cool down quickly without an external heat source. The berths in the medbay could be set to provide heat, but the sparkling became so distressed at being placed in the middle of a broad flat table, vents straining and hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surface, that First Aid picked up the little form and cradled it in his hand, speaking to him soothingly until the sparkling quieted again.

First Aid paced for a moment, at a loss. The ancient data files had shown ‘bots with modified chestplates and smaller mechs being placed inside for safekeeping, almost like Blaster with his symbiotes. First Aid regarded his own chest armor thoughtfully, but he had no way of modifying it, and at any rate his iridium-alloy armor was very difficult to remold. This sparkling was much much smaller than any of the ones in the grainy image captures, if the proportions were accurate and the ancient mechs were similar in size to himself. He could probably tuck the sparkling under his spark casing even without modifying his armor, although the idea made him squirm uncomfortably. There was a lot of delicate wiring in that area!  He had plenty of other spaces though. Struck by sudden inspiration, First Aid used the hand not holding the sparkling to open a storage panel on his other arm, one lined with insulation to protect the more delicate medical supplies. He removed the supplies and lined it with more insulation, until there was just enough space for the little frame. Aid carefully settled his tiny patient inside, and the sparkling sank its tiny hands into the insulation and was still, either content with the arrangement or just too weak to protest anymore. First Aid closed up the panel. As long as he didn’t move that arm too much, the sparkling should be fine. 

He now turned his attention to problem of modifying an uplink cable to connect to one of the sparkling’s minute data ports. He wished Perceptor was here; micro-projects like this would be a piece of energon cake for the scientist. Data ports were all built to standard size, regardless of the overall size of the mech, but they did have uplink cables that were designed for linking to the smaller ports of research and micro-monitoring equipment. First Aid took the smallest of these and removed the endcap. He teased out three wires and rewove and crimped them into a jury-rigged cable connector end, measuring and adjusting the diameter quickly but carefully.    

First Aid took a deep intake before inserting the standard end of the cable into the port on his arm where the sparkling was hidden, ignoring the moment of apprehensive dread with the ease of long practice.  Almost afraid to look, he opened the panel to reveal the sparkling. “Still alive?” he questioned softly. The sparkling was still alive, but just barely. He offered no resistance, arms and tiny helm dangling limply as First Aid gently eased the other end of the cable into the middle port on the sparkling’s left side with his small-digits. He sighed in relief as it slipped in place with no problems. Settling back in his chair, First Aid cradled the arm with the sparkling snuggled inside his storage section and shuttered his optics, making himself comfortable.  

The connection was not perfect, flickering intermittently, but it was enough to allow First Aid to access the sparkling’s systems. The damage was extensive, much of it already non-reversible. It was much worse than he had expected and for a moment First Aid considered withdrawing and just letting the sparkling continue the process of deactivation. He let his small manipulator digit gently stroke one of the limp little arms while he weighed prolonging the sparkling’s suffering over the slim to nonexistent chances of him surviving, let alone having any functionality. A tiny hand suddenly turned and gripped his digit tightly enough to hurt, and an equally strong sense of fierce, clinging determination surged across the link. First Aid blinked and winced. “Message received, small one,” he said aloud, a short, surprised laugh escaping him as he sat up straighter with a renewal of hope. “We’ll give it a try then. You are certainly a very determined little mechanism.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Halfway there. First Aid allowed himself a short break to stretch and take a few swallows of energon, before going back to manually combing through the tiny sparkling’s code, line by line, for more viruses. The sparkling was still limp and unresponsive, but as long as the fragile spark continued to beat, First Aid wasn’t going to give up either. The fueling problem nagged at him.  Without a way to get energy into the little frame, all his efforts would be for naught, but so far no brilliant solutions had come to him.  

Tell no one, Ratchet had said, and First Aid intended to follow that order as long as he could, but he needed help. Wheeljack was his first instinct, but he and Perceptor were stashed away on some secret project somewhere, and wouldn’t be back until next orn.  

_Blaster?_

He opened a comlink channel to the communications specialist.  Maybe Blaster’s symbionts would have some sort of record of this type of sparkling, although he wasn’t pinning too much hope on it. Constructed during the earliest history of Cybertron as sentient data storage, most cassettes had been deactivated or processor-wiped at the beginning of the war. After discovering Ramhorn barely alive in the frame of his deactivated host, and nursing him along for an orn until they could reach medical care, Blaster had volunteered to receive the modifications necessary to support the symbiont. When two more cassettebots had been rescued from a Decepticon research facility, Blaster had good-naturedly added them to his crew. And when Jazz had shown up at his door after returning from a mission with a wide grin and Steeljaw tucked under one arm, Blaster had only sighed and opened his compartment.

“Ok, but this is the  _last one_ , Jazz. Next one gets to stay under  _your_  chestplates.”

Although anything deemed of value had been wiped or extracted from their data banks long ago, all of Blaster’s cassettes still possessed odd bits of information about ancient Cybertron, especially Rewind. Most of it made very little sense, or seemed to involve elaborate debates on the best methods of crystal gardening, but occasionally there was a gem of useful knowledge.      

_What’s up, Aid?_ Blaster’s transmission was crystal clear, as usual. 

_I have a few questions for your guys, if they’re available._  He could have contacted Rewind directly, but the cassettes seemed to prefer keeping “the boss” in the loop during their interactions with other mechs.  

There was a brief pause, and then friendly greetings from Eject, Rewind and Steeljaw as they joined the transmission, and a grunt from Ramhorn, which Blaster informed him was an unusual pleasantry, coming from Ramhorn.  

_Do any of you have records on this type of new-spark construction?_  First Aid sent them a copy of the grainy ancient data file, a small Cybertronian frame covered in umbilical threads.

_Hey! I’ve seen that before_ , was Rewind’s immediate response. Eject and Steeljaw agreed that they, too, found the picture familiar.   

_But can you tell me anything more about it? Do you remember how they might have functioned or been maintained?_  There was silence.  

_Stupid_ , Ramhorn said finally, although whether he was referring to the other cassettes, to First Aid, or to the file itself, First Aid wasn’t sure.    

_Sorry, Aid_ , Rewind said apologetically _. But did you know that there are over thirty different kinds of gearshift designs hidden in the scrollwork facing on the crystal towers at Polyhex?_  

_I did not know that, thank you, Rewind._

_Cyberhounds_ , Steeljaw suggested.   _Ask Hound. He raised’m._  

First Aid raised his optic ridges and nodded to himself.  There were indeed many similarities between the little sparkling and a cyberhound pup, but he'd forgotten that Hound had been a gameskeeper.  

_That’s a very good suggestion, thank you._  

_Welcome,_  Steeljaw answered, sounding smugly pleased. It wasn’t often that he came up with the answers. First Aid made a mental note to review the cassettebots’ medical scans when he got a chance. They had always assumed Rewind and Eject had been constructed in the usual fashion, while Steeljaw and Ramhorn would have originated from processor-upgraded forms of now-extinct Cybertronian wildlife. The two quadrupeds would therefore have been budded construction. After seeing the tiny sparkling, however, First Aid thought some oddities of design that both Eject and Rewind shared with the other two might be explainable with an origin by budding, rather than pre-built frames sparked by Vector Sigma.     

That was a question for later though. First Aid debated for a moment, but the gradually weakening sparkbeat decided him.  It was a choice between keeping the secret or taking a chance to save the sparkling’s life.  If things went well, the sparkling’s existence would have to come to light eventually, anyway.

_Hound? Can you come to the medbay? I could really use your help with a patient._

Hound was happy to assist, but would take a few breems to arrive as he was on the other side of the compound. While he waited, First Aid resumed his painstaking virus scan of the sparkling’s systems. 

“Hang in there,” he murmured, brushing a small-digit over the sparkling where it was cradled in one hand. To his consternation the umbilical threads detached in the wake of wherever he touched, leaving behind the hundreds of clear attachment bases to each thread all along the sparkling’s body.  He carefully rolled the sparkling over and the remaining threads detached as well, falling in a silvery cascade to the floor.  

“I hope that’s not a bad sign, little one.” The sparkling remained unresponsive, sparkbeat continuing a microfraction weaker than before. First Aid started on the next block of coding, ignoring the beginning of an ache in his processor and softly humming one of Jazz’s old, many-versed ballads to keep himself focused on the tedious procedure. The overhead lighting in the medbay caught the remnants of the umbilical threads, giving the sparkling a fuzzy outline. The sparkling now reminded him a little of an energon bee, First Aid decided, one of the energy scavengers that, like most Cybertronian wildlife, had all but disappeared in recent vorns.  

First Aid looked up as the swish of medbay doors announced Hound’s arrival. “Where’s this patient of yours?” Hound asked, looking curiously around the empty medbay.   

“Right here.” First Aid gestured with his free hand. Hound came over and peered down at the tiny sparkling. 

“Aid…” Hound looked at the medic in wonder and then back down at the sparkling. “Holy slag. That’s…” 

“Budded, like a cyberhound pup, but way too early. He didn’t have any firewalls, but I managed to get in a hardline connection and I’m taking care of the virus infections now. My main problem is I can’t figure out how to get any fuel into him, and he’s getting weaker.” 

“Where in the name of Vector Sigma did he come from?”  

“I…can’t tell you, Hound. I’m sorry.” 

Hound looked over at him again, frowning. “Aid, who else knows about this? Optimus? Ratchet? Prowl?” First Aid looked at him mutely, and Hound sighed. “I’m going to have to report him to Prowl, at the very least, if Optimus is still off base. Do you know what this could mean?” 

First Aid nodded. “I know about the Allspark.” It wasn’t common knowledge, but he wasn’t surprised Hound knew too, that all lifeforms generated from the Allspark since it had been retrieved from the Decepticons so long ago had been…broken. Tormented and insane, with no cure that could be found other than merciful deactivation. Cybertron was dying; he had known that long before Optimus had recruited him for the Ark mission.  

“The last one,” Perceptor had murmured, looking at First Aid with optics weary and sad from the frustrating, unsuccessful, and spark-breaking vorns of attempting to unravel the Allspark’s secrets. First Aid didn’t know how he felt about that, but it seemed Perceptor had been wrong. If the little sparkling lived, he would no longer be the youngest Cybertronian. He would be the older brother, as the Aerialbots had been his.    

“Whatever you have to do, Hound, but if we don’t do something soon to get him fueled he’s not going to survive. I was hoping there would be something…since you used to raise cyberhounds…do you have any ideas at all?”  

Hound crossed his arms and frowned again, this time in thought as he reviewed his memory banks. “My old master would have whipped me with an electro whip for suggesting it. It’s nothing we ever did, but some of the new-fangled estates that wanted to build up their hunting hound numbers quickly would extract the newsparks and grow them in hatching vats, so the breeder hounds could bud again. Maybe something like that would work here?” 

“Vats,” First Aid mused. “Energon uptake through the dermal layer? If the thread bases haven’t fused shut…can you hand me that empty cube?”  

Hound handed it over and watched as First Aid tucked the sparkling away in one of his arm panels and then filled the cube with processed energon from one of his own secondary system lines. He then retrieved the sparkling, still attached to his arm port by the smallest uplink cable Hound had ever seen, and gently lowered most of him into the iridescent pink liquid. Only the tiny helm and top set of vents were still exposed. 

“Is it working?” Hound asked, crowding in as close as he dared without disturbing the whole set up. First Aid shook his head. 

“I can’t tell yet.”  

They both watched the motionless little frame, Hound marveling at the tiny, perfect hands as they drifted aimlessly in the energon.           

“Whipped you?” First Aid asked after a few kliks. 

“Ah, well.” Hound shrugged. “The good old days weren’t as always as good as us old ‘bots would have you think. It wasn’t so bad, on the whole, and my old master really did take good care of the hounds, if not always the mechs that worked for him.”  

First Aid gave him a worried look, not entirely convinced.  

“How’s he doin’ now?” Hound asked, giving him a reassuring nudge. First Aid scanned the sparkling’s systems and looked over at Hound with optics glowing brightly behind his visor.

“It’s not by much yet, but his energy levels are definitely rising,” he said, elation clear in his voice. “I think it’s working!”  

Hound chuckled happily and patted the medic on the shoulder. “That’s great, that’s just great, Aid.”  

“I would never have thought of this in time. Thank you so much.” 

“Aw, you would have come up with something. You’re a pretty determined medic, I’ve noticed. Let’s see, you’ll need to add growth components to the energon as well. If I recall right they used to use repair grade for hatching out cyberhound pups, but you might need to adjust the formula for this little guy.” 

“Growth components, that’s right. He’s supposed to get bigger.” First Aid gently adjusted the sparkling in his cube of energon. “I don’t know though. There’s so much damage from the virus infections, he’s just barely hanging on. I can’t even put an estimate on his chances.”  

They both sighed, Hound resting his chin on his hands as they watched the little sparkling fighting so quietly for his life. First Aid rested the cube with his hand and the sparkling inside on a berth and set the berth to warm to operating temperature, while he resumed his virus scan.  

“There’s hope now, though, isn’t there?” Hound asked after awhile.  

First Aid nodded. “Yes. Energy levels are up two percent. There’s definitely hope.”    

“I’m due for patrol,” Hound said, standing and looking at First Aid uncertainly. “Tell you what. Why don’t I give you a few cycles to see if you can get the little guy stabilized before I go to Prowl, that sound ok?”  

“That would be most helpful, Hound, thank you,” First Aid said gratefully. 

After a few moments, First Aid looked up in surprise as Hound poked his helm back in through the medbay doors.  

“Would it…uh…bother you too much if I checked in now and then. You know, just to see how he’s doing?”    

“That would be fine, Hound.” First Aid tilted his head fondly at the green scout. “It won’t bother me at all.”  Hound gave him a grin and then headed out to his patrol. 

Thirty-seven percent more to go on the virus scans. First Aid set to it with renewed energy. He was interrupted once by Slingshot, coming by to check on him, and a second time by Ironhide, stopping in to pick up his repaired cannons.  

“Hurt your hand?” Slingshot had asked off handedly. 

“Just working on a project,” First Aid had answered, and neither Ironhide nor Slingshot ever noticed that he was soaking a tiny sparkling in his cube of energon.

When the sparkling’s energy levels reached twenty-six percent, First Aid was pinged by a request from the sparkling’s systems to download a program. Scanning the code told him very little – the sequences were nothing he recognized, although the permissions involved seemed fairly invasive, on the level of higher order medical programming. After a few moments of pondering, and in full awareness that he was doing a Very Stupid Thing, First Aid allowed the download through his firewalls. He sighed a little as his own programming then proceeded to informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he was an absolute idiot.  

[Run program override?]

[Yes.] 

[Program override medical authorization level ten?] 

[Yes.]  

[System requirement medical override level six?] 

[Yes.]  

[Virus trace detected, run program?]

 [Yes.] 

[Are you sure?] 

[Yes.]  

He waited, but apparently his systems were finished flailing and griping. After a short pause the unknown program downloaded seamlessly to become part of his own coding. He’d been hoping for neatly arranged instructions on the ancient art of caring for budded sparklings, but no such information appeared. At least the downloaded code seemed to be dormant and well-behaved, for the moment anyway. He might still come down with a case of glitchy vents or some other complaint from any viruses he hadn’t managed to clear yet, but his own self-repair systems would handle it eventually. Hopefully. Never download an unknown program.  At least he hadn’t blown up his spark chamber or started growing an extra pair of optics on his aft, as had been rumored to happen to other, less fortunate mechs.  

“Ratchet’s going to reassemble me as a surgical sonoscope, when he finds out,” he told the sparkling. It made a faint, questioning squeak in reply. 

“Well hello there! Welcome back, small fry,” he said, using the affectionate term for a mech suspected of having a few burnt out circuits.  First Aid scanned the sparkling again. Energy levels at forty-four percent and rising, very promising. He could feel a weak, questing probe through the hardline link and responded with encouragement and warmth.  Blue optics lit to look at him briefly, before offlining again, and then the sparkling wriggled around in the energon bath until it could grip his hand with its tiny fingers and burrow into his palm.

“You are one amazing lifeform,” First Aid murmured wonderingly, although his optics narrowed as he noticed the sparkling didn’t seem to be using his lower half at all. Hound checked in a few breems later, and First Aid gave him the encouraging news.

At eighty percent, the sparkling’s energy levels seemed to top out. “We’ll take it,” First Aid told the sparkling as he removed him from the energon and patted him dry. His processor throbbed painfully, but the last of the virus clearance was complete.  The sparkling was patched in as a peripheral to his own systems, and under the shelter of his sturdy, medic-grade firewalls he would be safe from further damage for now.   

“Now let’s see what else is going on here.”  The sparkling didn’t want to let go of the drying towel, so First Aid let him keep it while he went over the tiny frame from helm to pede. He kept up a running commentary as he examined his small patient, the sparkling responding with a series of beeps and chirps for his side of the conversation. 

“Optics seem to be functioning fine, can you follow my finger? And you’re obviously responding to auditory stimuli, yes, thank you very much, I have no idea what you’re saying, but I agree. You’ve got a nice, strong grip, definitely feeling better, I can tell. Whoops, just where do you think you’re going?” The sparkling had transferred his grasp back to First Aid’s hand, squirming up in between his fingers. First Aid gently detached him and returned him to the towel. 

“Stay here where I can get a good look at you, please. Engine still running pretty rough, but better than it was…hmmm, and still not using those legs much, are you? Considering all of the virus damage, it’s amazing you’re already this functional. Now, let’s see what you’ve got in that processor…some of the basics, anyway, it looks like, but…” There was damage there, too, with sections of basic programming removed or altered.

“Are you understanding me? It looks like you’ve lost a lot of your language centers.” First Aid tried sending the query through their hardline link as well. The sparkling was silent, peering up at him intently, and then First Aid felt him tentatively reach out through the link, searching for something. First Aid waited patiently while the sparkling explored the surface of his first level memory banks and then guided him to his vocabulary database.  

“This what you’re looking for?” An excited squeak, and then the sparkling began scrolling through the information in a procedure First Aid recognized, though it was a very patchy file in his memory banks.  The sparkling was searching for a designation, although with that rate and random search pattern it would be at least an orn before he made it through the entire vocabulary file.   

“There’s a lot there…maybe we should start you off with something simpler. No?  All right then.”

With the sparkling thus occupied, First Aid continued his inventory of the undeveloped processor. “You’re probably not supposed to be doing this much work yet, with this little CPU; you should still be curled up in some nice, cozy, dark chest compartment recharging most of the time I’m betting. Rudimentary transformation programs, now that’s interesting…I wonder, if Wheeljack could design you an alt mode… with wheels the signal strength to your legs wouldn’t be as critical, you could roll around fairly easily…”

The sparkling made a curious chirp, abandoning the vocabulary search and chasing after that last thought. 

“What? You like that idea?”  The sparkling responded with a long, high-pitched buzz and insistent tugging through the link, and First Aid laughed.  “I guess so.” 

“Now what do you want?” he wondered, as the sparkling continued to tug and prod at him. He made the sparkling a simple image of a small, wheeled alt mode, zipping around, but he still wasn’t satisfied. “You want bigger wheels? Wheels? Oh, you like the words – so  _that’s_ what you’re after.  Is that your designation? Wheels? You can’t have Wheeljack, that’s already taken. Wheelie?” The sparkling managed a frustrated squeal.  “Nope, definitely not. Got it.” The sparkling poked him again, with a wordless push to go back.  What you said before.  

“You could roll around…Roll? Rollie? Roller?” First Aid’s optics crinkled in an amused smile as the sparkling waved its hands at him and squeaked excitedly, a sense of delighted confirmation coming through the link. “Ah ha, I think we have a winner. Roller? Roller it is.”   

The sparkling, now designated Roller, blinked up at him and heaved a tiny, contented sigh. “Wore yourself out, did you? I’m not surprised. Why don’t you take a nice recharge nap, hmmm?” First Aid gently stroked the helm with his small-digit, and Roller’s optics soon dimmed and shuttered. First Aid tucked him away back in his arm compartment and then began on his neglected medbay duties. He could do that and figure out what energon formulas might be most suitable for Roller at the same time - might as well get as much done as he could before he had to face the music. 

 


	4. Bonus Snippet 1 - Sideswipe meets Roller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to dsh for pointing out I'd posted several extra Roller snippets on my ff.net account, but not over here. For your reading pleasure - 5 more little Roller bits :)

"Hey, Aid," Sideswipe greeted the medic as he entered the brig, Prowl behind him. He stretched and stood up from his stool, welcoming the distraction from a rather boring shift on guard duty. The single Decepticon prisoner had been uneventfully and glumly silent the whole time he had been here. He didn't look like he'd give much trouble, but Sideswipe shot a warning glare just in case. The Decepticon shifted uneasily. Patients in the brig were always extremely well-behaved for First Aid, Sideswipe made sure of that.

Prowl moved in front of First Aid to deactivate the holding cell on the other side of the prisoner. First Aid entered and calmly sat on the narrow berth, and Sideswipe blinked his optic shutters in confusion.

"Half a joor?" Prowl asked.

"I'm all set for at least three joors, actually."

"Half a joor should suffice. There's Wheeljack, of course, but you're our only official medic at the moment." Prowl frowned a little, though the expression didn't seem to be directed at First Aid, particularly.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to cause more problems, especially now."

Prowl shook his head. "Don't worry, I've dealt with worse." He very pointedly did not look at Sideswipe, still gaping at his guard station. "And I do appreciate your nearly eleven vorns of exemplary behavior."

Prowl reactivated the holding cell and turned, only to find Sideswipe blocking his path.

"Is there a problem?" he asked mildly, raising an optic ridge.

"You can't...I mean...that's  _Aid_ ," Sideswipe sputtered ineloquently.

"First Aid has chosen to disobey a direct order, and is facing the consequences, like any other mech in this army."

"But..." Sideswipe looked over at First Aid and then back at Prowl, wondering if this was Prowl's idea of a prank, in payback for all the ones he'd ever pulled. Prowl's expression was all courteous attention, no sign of evil, unholy glee, but then, there wouldn't be, though Sideswipe was quite sure it was there behind those ever-composed faceplates, just waiting to be tapped.

"It's ok, Sideswipe," First Aid said from his cell. "Don't worry, I think he's actually going really easy on me."

"You're serious. What the frag was the order?" Sideswipe was getting over the initial shock and was beginning to see the humor in it. First Aid, disobeying orders. This ought to be good.

First Aid looked over at the Decepticon and then at Prowl. "I don't think..." he started. Prowl nodded.

"Good point." Prowl deactivated the other holding cell and snapped some stasis cuffs on the other prisoner. "You and I are going for a little stroll," he told the Decepticon, who looked less than thrilled with the chance to get some fresh air. "Recharging in the brig is not against the rules, you know, as long as you're not on guard duty," he added to First Aid, and Sideswipe only then noticed the dimness of the medic's visor, and the weary slump of his shoulders.

"So?" Sideswipe waggled his optic ridges suggestively, after they'd gone. "What dastardly deed did you refuse to do?"

First Aid's visor brightened at that, flashing a little in amusement. "It wasn't dastardly, Sideswipe. It was a reasonable order, I just couldn't follow it." He opened a panel on his forearm and moved closer to the front of the cell so Sideswipe could see. "I wouldn't tell Prowl where I got him."

Sideswipe peered through the cell bars, vaguely expecting to see some sort of illegal contraband or device. What he didn't expect to see was a perfect miniature Cybertronian, nestled in the insulation of First Aid's storage compartment. Some sort of sculpture? Sunstreaker would be impressed, the detail was incredible. He leaned in closer, and the two tiny optics opened to blink at him sleepily. Sideswipe, to his everlasting embarrassment, screamed.


	5. Bonus Snippet 2 - Rolling Roller

A glint of motion caught his optic, and Sideswipe leaned over to look down at the medbay floor. "What on Cybertron is that little weirdo doing now?"

His legs might be underpowered and he didn't have an alt mode yet, but that didn't stop Roller from getting where he wanted to go. First Aid smiled as he watched the little mech move at a surprisingly fast clip across the floor, and then shrugged and turned back to working on Sideswipe's shoulder.

"He's rolling, of course."


	6. Bonus Snippet 3 - Roller has sticky feet

"Extraordinary," Perceptor murmured, as he increased the magnification even further. "Your components have adjusted to allow for movement even as they expand. Your left major arm strut has actually increased in length by 0.00000493% since I began this examination, a remarkable feat indeed." Roller beeped at him in agreement.

"So, what do you think?" First Aid asked.

"I concur with Ratchet; his current growth rate should not prove an impediment to scanning an alt mode."

"Oh great," Sideswipe groaned. "Now the little scrap's gonna be mobile?"

"Sideswipe," Perceptor chided, attempting to return Roller to First Aid.

"You have to admit, he _is_  kind of pathetic." Sideswipe winked one optic at the tiny mech. Perceptor huffed indignantly. Roller giggled.

"For your information, Roller is a marvel of…self assembly…and…" Perceptor seemed to be having difficulty detaching Roller's hands, which were firmly flattened against his lower armplate. "First Aid, you never mentioned he had magnetic attachments in his upper digits. And his lower ones," he added, as Roller's foot components clamped on tightly as well.

"He didn't," First Aid sounded startled. "At least he didn't last time I scanned him."

//You were pretty pathetic, too, when you started out// Sunstreaker sent, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the wall of the medbay, watching as First Aid attempted to detach Roller from Perceptor's arm.

//I was?// Sideswipe blinked, prodding at his brother with tentative curiosity through the bond. Sunstreaker rarely volunteered information from their lives before the gladiator pits, and Sideswipe had learned that pushing too hard would only end…badly.

Sunstreaker transferred his gaze to his brother for a long moment, blue and inscrutable. //Your spark had trouble integrating with your frame at first. I carried you around your whole first vorn// And there had been much more to it than that, Sideswipe could sense, but Sunstreaker withdrew with his usual maddening reticence on the subject.


	7. Bonus Snippet 4 - Too big to fit

"You won't fit in there anymore, small fry. You've gotten too big," First Aid said, looking down at the little mech as he tugged insistently on the armor of his forearm. Roller let out a few forlorn beeps and tried to dig his small finger components into the hairline seams in the plating.

"Guess you'll just have to figure it out for yourself," First Aid chuckled, opening the storage compartment. Roller made a satisfied buzz and began energetically removing the medical supplies from the compartment, handing them one by one into First Aid's free hand. Once the compartment was empty, the little mech crammed as much of himself in as possible and pointed and clicked at the panel, urging First Aid to close it.

"It's not going to close, see?" First Aid shut the panel as far as it would go and lifted his arm to peer at the small bright blue optics in his compartment. "Your legs are in the way. And that really can't be comfortable at all." Roller chirruped at him and First Aid laughed.

"All right, if you insist. I suppose you can stay there for awhile. What brought this on, hmm? Are you functioning ok?" First Aid opened the remote link on their special channel, but found nothing out of order with Roller's systems other than his usual subpar energy readings. Just a nameless sadness and the image of various legs and foot components, viewed from below, all striding away from him too fast to follow.

First Aid made a sympathetic sound and patted the top of his compartment-with-Roller with his other hand. "They don't mean to leave you behind, sparklet. It's just been a little busy around here lately."

Roller sighed and squirmed a little in the compartment, reaching out one of his arms. First Aid brought his face a little closer until Roller could rest his hand against his face mask, sending as much comfort as he could cross the link.

"In fact," First Aid said, nudging the small hand a little with his mask, "if you'd like to help me out, I have a mission for you if you're up for it." Roller squirmed a little further out of the compartment and made an interested beep.

Some time later, First Aid smiled as he heard the medbay doors open and a vocalizer reset itself sheepishly.

"Apparently I've missed my last two maintenance appointments," Optimus Prime said. Roller waved at First Aid triumphantly from the Autobot commander's shoulder.


	8. Bonus Snippet 5 - Teeny mech, big gun

Ratchet lifted his optic ridges as Roller came through the door in alt mode, followed by Ironhide and Optimus, who were both beaming proudly.

"Ironhide..." Ratchet said, with a longsuffering sigh.

"Hey, a mech's gotta have a gun," Ironhide said, grinning.

Roller headed over to First Aid, beeping in excitement.

"I see, and yes, it's very nice, but..." Roller transformed and then staggered and flailed his arms, the cannon mounted to his back nearly outweighing him. First Aid knelt quickly and caught him before he fell over completely.

Ratchet transferred his glare from Ironhide to Optimus.

"Um..." The leader of the Autobots shuffled his feet a little and looked over to Ironhide for help.

"Maybe he'll grow into it?" Ironhide suggested, taking a few steps back so he could duck behind Optimus if necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more Roller Snippets are posted in with my general Protectobot Beginningsverse ones:  
> [Roller's not the baby daddy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1158364/chapters/2352718)  
> [Roller gets his alt mode](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1158364/chapters/6181046)  
> [Storytime for Roller](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1158364/chapters/10144637)


End file.
